


and then there were two.

by JordanUlysses



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13031928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanUlysses/pseuds/JordanUlysses
Summary: "They had chosen a job that was full of danger, knowing that their life was not worth much, was something to bargain with. That death could happen at every step, but this knowledge still did not prepare for the reality."Illya dies on a mission his partners did not know about; and now Gaby and Napoleon have to find a way to live without him.Written for the "The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2017".





	1. Milan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glorious_spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/gifts).



> This is for glorious_spoon, who resquested this inspiring prompt: "Pre-slash or get-together, one of them thinks the other is dead (they're wrong)." I wish you a wonderful holiday season and hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I love both the 2015 movie and the tv show, so while the characters are the movie versions, I mixed them with the tv show background (without really realising I did so at first). It may not be a very logical development for the movie universe, but I see this as an AU in which politics is easier on them. 
> 
> A big thank you to Jim, Laura and Siri, who found annoying typos, German expressions that won't work in English and asked important questions which helped me to write the story.

“Oh, is this a team meeting?” Napoleon asked instead of greeting Gaby who had just entered the elevator. She was wearing an orange dress combined with big round yellow earrings and a yellow belt – an outfit that should not have worked at all, but somehow did.  
“Eyes up here, Cowboy,” she slapped his arm and he smiled at her warmly.  
“As if I wouldn't appreciate your lovely face as well. Did Peril pick that?”  
“No. Do you have a new suit?”  
The elevator came to a stop and they stepped out, walking down the corridor to Waverly's office. “Yes,” Napoleon continued the conversation. “Cheryl in budgeting has taken a liking to me.”  
“Is that so,” he couldn't quite see her grin, but the tone of her voice was enough.  
“Oi. Surely you would not use careless chatter among friends as blackmail material.”  
“That assumes we are friends.”  
Before Napoleon could think about that they had reached their destination, Luise letting them through into the office. Waverly was sitting on the round table, his nose in a big stack of files and greeted them absentmindedly. Napoleon pulled out a chair for Gaby before sitting down himself, trying to read Waverly's expression.  
“Kuryakin seems to be late,” he said after a moment when Waverly did not give another sign of acknowledging them. Gaby rolled her eyes at him and Napoleon caught a subtle shift in Waverly's expression that made him feel on edge. “What's wrong?” he asked.  
“Right to the point then,” Waverly mumbled and looked up, closing his file. “Miss Teller, Mister Solo, thank you for coming.”  
“Is this about Illya?” Gaby asked. “It's just that I haven't heard from him in a few days and there were no signs in his flat that he spent the last couple of nights there …,” she gave Napoleon a poignant look, which he did not understand.  
“Yes, this is indeed about Mister Kuryakin,” Waverly cleared his throat. “I am sorry to tell you that three hours ago we received confirmation that he was killed in a shooting in Milan while on a mission.”  
Napoleon could feel Gaby sitting up straight at his side. “Are you sure?” her words were clipped.  
“Yes.”  
“What mission?”  
“A matter of the utmost secrecy, so I am afraid I cannot tell you anything else.”  
“But …,” Napoleon said, but then stopped because there didn't seem to be anything else to say.  
“Are there eyewitnesses?” Gaby asked, completely focused on Waverly.  
“Yes. You can have a look at the official police report if you want.”  
“I do. What about his body?”  
“The Italian police is taking care of sending his body to Moscow. It is in his will to get buried there.”  
“But …,” now Gaby seemed to be at a loss to say something.  
“The funeral is tomorrow, so even if I could spare you two, there is no way you can make it,” Waverly's voice was soft now. “But there will be a memorial service here at HQ and I will schedule you for therapy.”  
“I want the police report,” Gaby's voice was wavering and Napoleon could see her hand slightly shaking when she reached for the papers Waverly handed her. Then, she got up abruptly and left the office in a flight. Napoleon got up as well, still not knowing what to say and then just followed Gaby. Luise opened her mouth, but he hurried past her, down the corridor again. He nearly did not catch the elevator that Gaby had gotten on, manically punching the button to close the doors.  
Another ping and they were riding up. Gaby was standing rigid, hands balled into tight fists, the papers crumbled in her fingers. “Napoleon,” she said. “Can you drive me home.”  
He only had the strength to nod.

They were silent during the drive, Napoleon gripping the steering wheel hard, just concentrating on the flow of traffic. He did not allow himself to think. Gaby's apartment was close to Del Floria's and Napoleon found a parking spot right away. He followed her to the building, up the stairs and into her flat. Gaby stopped in the middle of the living room, back towards him and he was at a loss of what to do.  
“Let's have a drink?” he asked, but suddenly he realized that her shoulders were shaking. He walked over to her, taking her by the arms. She turned around and then they were suddenly hugging, Gaby burying her face against his chest, fingers digging into his back. She was wailing and all he could do was to stroke over her back again and again, his own expression made of stone.

They ended up on the floor, Napoleon leaning against the couch, Gaby curled up on top of him.  
“He can't be gone,” she whispered. “It's not fair.”  
“I know,” he pulled her closer. What else was there to say? They had chosen a job that was full of danger, knowing that their life was not worth much, was something to bargain with. That death could happen at every step, but this knowledge still did not prepare for the reality. Peril, who had been so full of life, a force to be reckoned with, somehow had always seemed … well, not invincible since he had been hurt in the line of duty. But he had seemed like death would not dare to touch him, and if Napoleon thought back on the past two years he had never worried about his partner. Gaby, yes, even though that was hardly necessary.  
“I never thought …,” he said and had to cough to get his voice back. “It never seemed like an option that Illya could die, did it?”  
Gaby glanced up at him. “Of course it was an option. For all of us. But still …,” a fresh wave of tears shook her body. 

She fell into an exhausted sleep not long after that and Napoleon managed to get up without waking her, carrying her into the bedroom. He packed her into the blanket, only having taken off her shoes. After a moment of consideration, he laid down at her side. The thought of having to drive to his place, to go to bed alone, with only his own mind to give him company was too much to take. 

Cruel sunlight woke him up. Gaby was nowhere to be seen and Napoleon sat up with a groan, feeling sticky and uncomfortable in his clothes. He could hear someone walking around and then the front door closing with a bang. He glanced at the alarm. It was still too early for work … shit, he really did not want to go into work today. But he also did not want to leave Gaby alone, so he managed to make his way out of bed, freshening up as best as he could in the bathroom. He had a stack of clothes in the office – it was not the first time he would come in looking all crumpled and having to change at work. Somehow he avoided thinking about Peril the whole morning, but when he came in and Heather greeted him not with a cheery, but a sympathetic smile, it all came rushing back.  
“Already told your partner that you don't have to work today, but she didn't listen to me,” Heather got up and he grabbed his badge hurriedly, making his way past her murmuring a 'thank you'. He really did not want to be hugged and coddled by his coworkers.  
First, he changed into a fresh suit and then grabbed the files he was working on – Waverly had realized a few months ago that he had a knack for paperwork and so more and more landed on his desk – and then went into Gaby's office. She was bent over a file and did not acknowledge him as he sat down at the left side of her desk, getting comfortable.  
“Waverly said you can take a few days off,” she murmured after a while.  
“Same goes for you, I presume,” he shrugged and kept working.

It actually helped, staying focused on the forms he had to fill in, reports to go through and sign off. He was glad when Heather brought them some sandwiches for lunch so they did not have to go to the canteen.  
“So, I was looking over the police report,” Gaby said casually when she had finished her ham and cheese.  
Napoleon concentrated on his cup of coffee.  
“And it seems everything is in order.”  
“Why wouldn't it be?” he asked.  
“No reason, I guess I was just hoping ...”  
“Waverly would have spotted any anomaly.”  
“Yes. Still, maybe we should go to Milan anyway.”  
“You do remember of course that the mission is top secret.”  
“Bullshit. We are this agency's top agents. Waverly should tell us. I mean, this says they arrested some guy …,” she tapped on the papers, “but there is not much information on him, and … will he go to prison for life? They don't have the death sentence in Italy, so maybe ...”  
“Gaby, let me stop you right there,” Napoleon held up his right hand. “Again, top secret mission. Waverly will have his reasons. Also, we are not going to Italy for an assassination.”  
“But he killed Illya! Don't you care?” she was on her feet in a second and he flinched, taken aback by the anger in her voice. She stared at him and then fell into herself. “I'm sorry,” she came to him, hugging him awkwardly from above. “I did not mean that. Of course you care. I just … I can't believe this and I'm grasping at straws and you are so calm and collected and … I should be the one who's there for you ...”  
Napoleon hugged her back. “It's okay,” he murmured. “We are here for each other. That's what partners are for, right?”  
She let go and smiled down at him, wiping away her tears. “Partners. And friends.”  
He swallowed hard at that, but then grinned. “Didn't you say yesterday that we are not?”  
“Oh come on, I was joking,” she slapped his shoulder. “Don't ruin the moment.”

They worked for another couple of hours, Gaby going over intelligence reports, when Luise looked in on them.  
“Mister Waverly sends me to tell you that your therapist sessions are scheduled.”  
“Is this really necessary?” Gaby crossed her arms.  
“He said if you refuse he'll make it an order, so yes. Besides, Doctor Troi has only been here for a few weeks and it will look good if you two go to her.”  
“I'm so glad we can help out,” Gaby rolled her eyes.  
“Well, you are on in half an hour, and you tomorrow, Napoleon,” she smiled at them before she left.  
“If you want we can switch,” Gaby offered.  
“No, I'm good.”  
She regarded him for a moment and then shrugged.

He waited for the end of her appointment, her jacket draped over his arm. When she came out of the office she looked calm and collected, but her eyes were red. He helped her into the jacket and then they left the building, Napoleon driving to Gaby's flat. Again, he followed her upstairs. He cooked dinner, which they ate in front of the TV.  
“I think I'm beat,” Gaby pushed her plate away when it was empty. “I'm going to bed,” she glanced at him. “Would you … would you like to stay again?”  
He nodded. 

The next days went by in the same pattern. They went to work, catching up on all their paperwork since they had no open case, and Napoleon came home with Gaby, cooking dinner and then sleeping in her bed. The third night she had sighed and then threw her arm over his chest, so he had hugged her back. It helped, to be close to her, the pain in his chest decreasing a bit. At least it helped more than the session with Doctor Troi. He had never seen much sense in therapy. And even though the doctor seemed to be proficient enough in her field, he had enough experience to give her all the cues she was looking for, so that in the end he only had to go twice.  
Gaby was still crying. She tried to hide it from him, but no matter how good she applied her make up afterwards, after two years of working so closely with her he could always tell.  
What Napoleon did not know was that she had stormed into Waverly's office after another one of her sessions, demanding information about the mission that had killed Illya, but he had thrown her out. He heard it from Luise and Heather when they came by to check the last details for the memorial service with him that was to be held the next day.  
She was on the shooting range, where he eventually found her. The room was otherwise empty, only the pops of her gun echoing through it. She was standing rigid, the cardboard villain at the end of the range already riddled with holes. He made sure his steps were loud when he went to stand by her side.  
“He would not talk to you?” he asked when she was reloading her gun.  
“No.”  
“I'm sorry.”  
“So am I. It's not fair,” she aimed again, pulling the trigger. “He was our partner. We should be the ones investigating. Taking over his case. We should have a chance to avenge him.”  
“I suppose Waverly thinks we are too close to it. Look at you, taking out your frustration on the shooting range ...”  
She turned towards him and he nearly stepped back, the pain in her eyes too much to confront. “And you?”, her voice was quiet. “You don't seem to be affected by this at all.”  
He opened his mouth to reply, but no words would come.  
“Just … go, okay?” she turned back to her target and he slowly left the room, trying to keep breathing, to concentrate on the tasks at hand – personnel files he had to check, a flower arrangement he still had to order for tomorrow. He hesitated when he arrived at Gaby's office and then went into his own. It felt wrong to sit down at his desk, Illya's office just on the other side of the hall, but somehow he managed to continue working.

“What are you doing?” Gaby came in without knocking, thankfully without any weapon in her hand. Napoleon put on his easy smile.  
“Working. You done killing that paper fellow?”  
“Yes. What I meant is, why are you in your office?” she crossed her arms, her accusing look making Napoleon consider his answer carefully.  
“You were angry with me. I thought it best to keep my distance.”  
“I don't want you to keep your distance. I am angry, but not with you. I'm angry …,” she threw up her hands and had to swallow hard. “I'm angry with Waverly for not telling me about that mission. I'm angry with myself, for not being able to accept this situation. And worst of all, I am so darn angry with Illya for doing this to me, to us.”  
He had gotten up while she spoke and went around his desk, pulling her in a tight hug. Her breathing got more steady and they stood like this for a while, until she stepped back. “Right. Come on then, the day is over anyway. Will you make that truffles risotto for me tonight?”  
“And I thought you did not like truffles. I distinctly remember you comparing it to the smell of feet once. But I shall do as you wish.”  
“And tomorrow you will work in my office again? I do like having you around.”  
“Of course I will. I like being there as well.”  


Napoleon had not realized that the whole office would show up to the memorial service. He looked down at his hands. The paper he was holding was slightly shaking, so he put it down.  
Clearing his throat, he looked for Gaby sitting in the last row. She had refused to give a speech, arguing that she would only break down and not be able to finish anyway. So this was on him.  
“I first met Illya two years ago,” Napoleon said quietly, his voice still filling the room. “It was in East Berlin and he was chasing Gaby and me. We were in a car, he was on foot and somehow he still managed to get to us and tear off the hood of our car,” there was stifled laughter and he could see Gaby covering her face with her hands. Luise, who sat at her side, put an arm around her shoulder.  
“We have worked together as partners since then. It's a job where we are constantly in danger, but somehow …,” he swallowed hard. “Somehow it never occurred to me that he could die. He seemed … larger than life. And this job,” he quickly continued, looking down at his paper, the compassionate faces of his colleagues too much, “it brings you close in ways that other jobs don't. Peril was … he was my partner, but two years were not enough to get to know him. I like to think that we were friends, but he never really showed his emotions … Gaby and I, we wish we could have been there to protect him. I wish …,” he could not continue and crumbled the paper in his hands. “I hope that he has peace now. If anyone deserves it, it's him.”  
He left the podium, sitting down in the first row. He was glad when it was over twenty minutes later, not having listened to the rest of the speeches. He managed to leave the room quickly, barricading himself in Gaby's office. Gaby joined him a few minutes later and they worked quietly until the evening.


	2. Mannheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some German in this chapter. For everyone reading on a PC/laptop, you can hover over those parts and the translation will (hopefully!) show up. For everyone else I included the translations at the bottom of the chapter.  
> German is my mothertongue, so those parts should be accurate. I also have been to Mannheim twice by now, any inaccuracies are my own fault.

If Napoleon had learned one thing, then that life always went on. It was only the next day, Gaby and him working in her office again, when Luise came in.  
“Mister Waverly wants to see you two.”  
“Is it about the Milan case?” Gaby looked up hopefully.  
“I'm afraid not. You have a new case. Germany, apparently. West of course,” she smiled and held open the door for them. 

Two hours later they were boarding a plane. Gaby had a big stack of magazines under her arm, Napoleon their file. It seemed a simple mission: infiltrating a party and getting in contact with a young woman. Her husband apparently worked for a criminal organization they had been tracking for some time now. It was called THRUSH and so far they could only speculate about its nature. Napoleon was pretty sure that the late Victoria Vinciguerra had had ties to it, but so far they couldn't even prove that THRUSH existed. It was chatter and rumors, but nothing definite. The town they were going to was called Mannheim, quite close to the French border.  
“It's weird, isn't it?” Gaby took a sip from her cocktail, putting down the first of her magazines.  
“What is?” Napoleon looked up from the file.  
“Going on a mission, without Illya,” she looked at him earnestly and he reached out to squeeze her hand.

He had taken a nap and when he woke up Gaby was skimming the last of her magazines.  
“Say,” she continued to study an advertisement for watches, “what do you think of Luise?”  
“Mh?” he cleared his throat and took a sip of his water, feeling somehow more exhausted than before his nap.  
“Waverly's secretary.”  
“I know. I …,” he shrugged and then stretched his arms, the seat quite uncomfortable by now. “I think she's very intelligent. Very pretty as well.”  
“Have you ever … gone out with her?” she turned the page.  
“No. Tried, but she was rather adamant in her rejection. Why?”  
“Just because. You haven't been dating lately, maybe it would do you good. You know, to move on.”  
“I'm … fine, thank you. What about you?”  
“What about me? I haven't asked out Luise.”  
“I didn't mean Luise, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “That new guy seems quite nice, Mark? Although his taste in hats is very questionable.”  
“I pass. Have you finished with the file yet? I'm nearly through with my magazines.”  
“Not yet. Give me half an hour more.”

“About dating Luise,” Napoleon closed the file after having finished it.  
“Mh?” Gaby had been staring out of the window down at the clouds.  
“Well, it seems our target, Frau Hannelore Schröder, is leaning more towards the fair sex.”  
“Does she. Isn't she married?”  
“Yes. A marriage of convenience it seems. Her husband is older, but also seems to sleep around, though they do not share their partners.”  
“So … I should approach her and not you?”  
“Yes,” Napoleon furrowed his brow, not quite happy with this development. Then again, Frau Schröder was only the wife of their actual target and as far as their intelligence said, was most likely innocent herself. “If that is alright?”  
Gaby shrugged, taking the file from him. “It's acting. I do not mind.”

“You know, I never quite understood what those are for,” Napoleon pointed at the tower before them. They entered the lovely little park around it. It was a day later. They had arrived in the morning, first checking into their hotel. Now they were taking a walk through the city to familiarize themselves with the terrain. They were in the center, called the squares. Unusually for Germany, the streets here were built like a grid, so orientation was quite easy.  
“What do you mean?” Gaby was wearing a big pair of sunglasses, apparently determined to use the last of the early November sunshine.  
“Well, I know they are to do with water, that's why it's called Wasserturm. But what exactly is it for?”  
“If you want to impress me with your German, you are failing spectacularly,” Gaby smiled up sweetly at him. “And it's easy. It's for water storage, and also serves to pressurize the water system. So it needs to be as high as the houses are built, so the water can be pumped up.”  
“Not as interesting as I thought it would be,” Napoleon nodded at a cafe outside the park. “ Do you want coffee?”  
“Actually I could go for some ice-cream.”  
“Right, because it's not cold enough,” Napoleon shook his head, but led her over the street to the cafe, where he got himself a big cup of coffee and a sundae for Gaby.  
“So,” he said, getting out his cigarettes. “How is it, being back in Germany?”  
“Strange,” she raised an eyebrow at the Marlboro pack. “My home is East Berlin, and this doesn't really compare.”  
Napoleon lit his cigarette, ignoring Gaby's stare. “It's quite a small city, isn't it. More like a big village.”  
“Illya did not like that,” Gaby's voice was pressed.  
“What, big villages?”  
“No, you smoking. So stop this.”  
Napoleon inhaled deeply. “Well, he's not here anymore, is he?”  
Before he could react, Gaby had reached over the table, snatching the cigarette from him and letting it fall into his coffee. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you insist,” he put the pack away, tapping his fingers on the table.  
“Don't be a child,” Gaby got up abruptly. “You don't have to make a show of the fact that you didn't care for him,” with that she turned around and left the cafe.  
Napoleon did not look after her, but when he heard the door fall shut he got out another cigarette and proceeded to smoke it until his fingertips were nearly burned. 

Napoleon went back to the hotel after going by the venue where the party was to be held that evening. He meticulously checked the equipment and then called their police contact to go over the plan again.  
Half an hour before they had to leave, Napoleon already changed into his suit for the evening, Gaby stormed into their suite and disappeared into the bathroom without a word, only having snatched the microphone from Napoleon's hand.

“Kommissar Schmidt is meeting us down in the lobby,” Napoleon said when Gaby came out again, wearing a beautiful green cocktail dress.  
“I still don't think it's necessary to involve the local police,” Gaby said and Napoleon was just glad she was speaking to him again.  
“Better safe than sorry,” he shrugged and got up, straightening his jacket. “You've switched on the mic?”  
“Yes, I did.”

The Kommissar was already waiting for them. He was a stout fellow, most of his face covered by an impressive mustache. Napoleon repressed the urge to get a pair of scissors and instead greeted the man with a handshake.  
“We have sat up surveillance around the Rheinstübchen,” his accent was thick and Napoleon had to pay close attention to his words.  
“Thank you. This is my colleague, Gaby Teller.”  
“Fräulein Teller, schön, ihre Bekanntschaft zu machen. Sie kommen aus Ostberlin?”  
“Ursprünglich,” Gaby shook his hand as well and they slowly made their way outside.  
"New York muss wunderbar sein. Ich werde nächstes Jahr für meinen Sommerurlaub hinfliegen. Vielleicht können Sie mir ja ein paar Tipps geben, wenn dieser Fall abgeschlossen ist?”  
“Gerne. Aber erst mal sollten wir uns darauf konzentrieren.”  
“Absolut. Wie gesagt, der Klub ist umstellt. Ich habe mit ihrem Kollegen ein Zeichen ausgemacht, falls es Ärger geben sollte und wir haben auch Polizisten in Zivil bereitstehen, die sich unter die Leute mischen werden.”  
“Dann sollte alles abgedeckt sein. Wir erwarten eigentlich nicht, dass es Probleme geben wird.”  
“Na, man kann nie vorsichtig genug sein. Is there something else?” he turned to Napoleon, who had been trying to follow the conversation and realized that his German was far too rusty.  
“Ich denke nicht,” he said and the Kommissar beamed at him. “Wir sehen uns später,” Napoleon continued. “Danke für das Treffen.”  
“Natürlich. Ich wünsche Ihnen Hals- und Beinbruch,” they shook hands again and Gaby and Napoleon watched the Kommissar getting into a car and driving off. Napoleon waved for a taxi.  
“What does that mean, Hals- und Beinbruch? Is it like … break a leg?”  
“Yes, exactly. Your accent is terrible, by the way,” Gaby slipped into the taxi and Napoleon followed with a sigh.

There was a live band in a corner, the room slowly filling with people. Napoleon made his way to the bar, keeping his eyes open for their target, but she had not yet arrived. He got a bottle of beer and leaned against the counter, observing the room. Gaby entered ten minutes later, getting a drink as well and then started to chat with a group of girls at the other end of the room.  
Napoleon slowly sipped his beer, making out the undercover police men and women in the crowd – maybe it had not been such a good idea after all, they were acting quite awkwardly. Then again, they did not expect any criminals to show up, this was only meant to establish contact with a potential informant. And what a lovely sight that informant was. Hannelore had just entered the room, looking stunning with her blonde hair piled up, a short red dress complimenting her body. Napoleon glanced at Gaby, who was shaking her head at him. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the target.  


Five minutes later Gaby had approached her. Hannelore had sat down at a table by herself, having gotten a cocktail first and was bobbing her leg up and down in tact with the music, some cheesy, nonsensical song about marble breaking, but love that does not. Now Gaby was chatting with her, Gaby slowly getting closer, leaning into her space – which Hannelore apparently appreciated. Napoleon was approached twice in that time, but declined the offer of company, casually keeping Gaby in sight, listening to the German chatter from the mic. They were talking about dresses, the venue, Hannelore was admiring Gaby's earrings and Napoleon sighed, very tempted to tap the receiver popped into his ear and switch the audio off.  
Now the women had gotten up and were dancing, the band playing a rather nice cover of “Downtown”. They were obviously flirting with each other, Gaby having put her hand on Hannelore's waist. Even across the room Napoleon could make out the hungry looks they were exchanging. After another song, they went back to their table to have a drink and resumed their conversation, which turned to music. Now Hannelore was the one to lean into Gaby's space – and suddenly she knocked over her cocktail glass, the orange liquid spilling over Gaby. Napoleon could hear a rather loud fizzle in his left ear and then the mic went quiet.  
Gaby had gotten up, Hannelore trying to dab off the cocktail with a handkerchief, but Gaby was shaking her head and disappeared in the direction of the toilets, Hannelore following her. Napoleon was standing at the bar, trying to decide how to continue. They had made no plan for this situation, but he knew he couldn't just barge into the ladies' room, if all they were doing was probably just trying to save the spoiled dress.  


Still, he was restless and changed his position so he could watch the door of the ladies. Nothing happened, except other people going in and out. After ten minutes he located one of the undercover police officers, a lady in a blue pantsuit. She seemed surprised that he had made her out, but after a moment complied to his request and went to check the toilet.  
She came out two minutes later.  
“Sie reden miteinander und frischen ihr Make-up auf,” the woman told him. “Sieht nicht so aus, als ob ihre Kollegin in Gefahr wäre.”  
“Danke,” Napoleon said, feeling at least a bit assured.  
Five minutes later they finally came out again, arms linked and got their coats. Napoleon tried to signal Gaby, but she did not even look in his direction, following Hannelore outside the building. This was bad and Napoleon quickly made his way outside. He could just spot them turning a corner and waved to Kommissar Schmidt parked on the other side of the street to stand back. He had to trust that Gaby knew what she was doing, but that did not mean he would leave her alone.  
He got out his pack of cigarettes when he turned the corner a minute later. The women were standing close against a wall a bit off, intently talking. Napoleon leaned against a streetlamp, lighting his cigarette, watching them out of the corner of his eye. Gaby had noticed him, but gave no sign, instead taking Hannelore's hand. Napoleon looked away, but when he looked back Hannelore was reaching into her handbag, pulling something out. Napoleon reacted before he could think, running towards them. She whirled around, and then took off in the other direction, Gaby shouting after her.  
“Scheiße. What the fuck are you doing?” she glared at Napoleon who was coming to a stop in front of her. “You scared her away!”  
“I … I thought … I thought she was pulling a gun on you,” he was breathing hard, trying to calm down.  
“She just wanted to get out some paper to write down her address,” she pushed him hard. “I should have run after her. We've botched it. No, actually you did. If you had stayed back and let me do my job, we wouldn't be in this mess.”  
“I …,” before he could continue steps were coming closer and Kommissar Schmidt joined them.  
“I am afraid we lost Frau Schröder. We have not covered this alley.”  
“Don't worry, this one is on Napoleon,” Gaby sighed. “I think … we are done for the day. We will contact you in the morning once we have decided how to proceed.”  
“Alright, I will call back my people then.”  
“Danke, Herr Kommissar,” Gaby shook his hand and without giving Napoleon another look walked off. He stood there, not quite sure if he should say something, but then just followed her.

“We could have asked the Kommissar to put out a warrant for Hannelore,” Napoleon said. He was trying to keep up with Gaby, who was quickly making her way through the quiet streets.  
“I would rather do this myself at this point. Alright,” she stopped abruptly, whirling around to him. “You have her address, yes? You will go and stake out her apartment. I will have a look at that villa they have outside of town. What was the name of the village? Something with F.”  
“Are you sure we should split up?”  
“First of all, we don't have a choice. And secondly,” she reached in her bag and got out the ruined microphone, thrusting it in his hands, “I am really, really mad at you. So it's better if we both have some time apart so I can cool off and not give in to the urge to kill you.”  
All he could do was nod. 

He went by the hotel to get some equipment and then made his way back to the squares. The Schröders were living in a very nice apartment block. He located the flat, the penthouse suite on the left side. All lights were switched off and for ten minutes there was no change. Napoleon took the time to think through his next steps, trying not to think of the evenings events. If he started down that path, he would lose his composure, he would make mistakes and disappoint Gaby even more.  
Still, it was weird to be on his own. He wondered how he had become so dependent on his partner being close in such a short amount of time. Of course, they had worked closely together for two years, but now the very absence of Gaby made him feel utterly alone. Made it clear that someone else was missing as well … He wiped over his eyes angrily. Here he was, crouched into the entrance of a building on a stake-out, crying because of something that should not matter. Before UNCLE he had gone through life carelessly, not attaching himself to anything. It was easier that way, the war having taught him that death was always just a step away. And then he had met Gaby and Illya and slowly, without realizing it, he had lost his countenance. He had started to care, deeply and now he was paying the prize.  
Today he had fucked up the mission because he could not stand the thought of Gaby getting hurt. She was right to be angry with him, and maybe … maybe once they were back in New York he should go to Waverly and request to be partnered up with someone else.  


With that thought he slowly made his way down the street, getting to the back of the building. There was an entrance and it took him all but 30 seconds to open the door. He needed five more minutes to make his way up the stairs, to find the right flat and to break in. The place was quiet and dark and he could not see Hannelore's coat in the hallway or the shoes she had been wearing.  
Still, he went deeper into the flat, securing the kitchen, the hallway closet and the spacious living room. Then, he went into the bedroom.  
There was a noise behind him and before he could get out his gun he was knocked down, for a moment everything going black.  
When he opened his eyes again the muzzle of a gun was pressed under his chin, something soft pushed into his mouth.  
“Kein Mucks,” a rough voice whispered.  
Napoleon gave the smallest of nods. Even if he had not understood the words, he had gotten the gist of it. The man grabbed his arm and dragged him off the floor, Napoleon following. He put his weight into the movement, nearly slipping out of the grip, when he was grabbed from behind. His hands were forced into cuffs behind his back, cold steel biting into his skin and someone to his left laughed. Three men, all masked and Napoleon's head was still hurting.  
He was pushed out of the room, gun pressed against his back, out of the flat and down the stairs. They did not meet anyone and outside the street was eerily quiet at this time of the night. Napoleon thought of making some noise, alerting someone, but he did not want to risk a civilian getting into this situation.  
A car was waiting and Napoleon was forced to climb in. There was someone sitting there, gun ready and he needed a moment to make him out in the dim light. He groaned and then closed his eyes, not wanting to see the satisfied grin of his captor longer than he had to.

The drive was long, but they were making a lot of turns, so Napoleon suspected they were actually still in the city. The car came to a stop and Napoleon was blindfolded before being guided outside, rough hands dragging him along. Their steps were resonating and the air was tasting a bit stale, so they were definitely underground, maybe in a tunnel. They walked for quite a bit and then stopped. A door was creaking open, then a softer material, probably a carpet beneath his feet and through another creaking door. His handcuffs were opened, his jacket and then his shoes removed.  
He was forced onto an elevated surface and now it was scratchy rope being pulled over his wrists and ankles, and then around his torso again and again, until the only things he could move were his head, fingers and toes. Then, the blindfold and the gag were removed.  
Napoleon coughed, trying to get his voice back. “Kommissar Schmidt,” he murmured, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “You could have just asked me out on a date. No need for all of this.”  
“You are a funny man, mh?” the Kommissar smiled at him.  
“Where is Hannelore?” Napoleon asked, looking around the room. Stone walls, a camera in one corner, the table on which he was bound the only furniture. It was cold and the air felt quite wet.  
“We don't know. The little traitor managed to slip away. Her husband is in Berlin so we hope to get her before he comes back.”  
“Ah. So you are THRUSH.”  
The Kommissar reached into his pocket, pulling out a cap. There was an emblem on the front, the picture of a black bird. He put it on.  
“Handsome,” Napoleon said.  
“Thank you. And you are UNCLE.”  
“Sadly I do not have a cap. Maybe that's a thought I should save for our next department meeting.”  
“See, now you are funny again. Thinking you will leave this room. No, Herr Solo, you will not. We will get all the information we can out of you, and then …,” he had gotten closer and now tapped against Napoleon's forehead.  
“Actually you can skip the making me talk part. An interesting thing about me is that under torture I tend to yell a great deal and in the end reveal absolutely nothing.“  
“We will see,” the Kommissar patted his cheek. “First, you will stew a bit. Then, we work.”  
He left the room and the moment the door closed Napoleon strained against his bonds, trying to get free – but after ten minutes he gave up. All he could do was wait and hope that he would find a way to talk himself out of this situation.

Lying there in the dark, Napoleon mused that the situation was not as bad as it could be. It certainly was not something he had not been through before and he knew how to conduct himself. The most important thing was not to panic, to keep a cool head, not to waste his energy on useless actions and to use every opening that presented itself. Right now there was nothing he could do, except listen to water dropping down the wall somewhere behind him and stare at the red dot on the camera in the corner. If only it would not be so cold, his shirt not really keeping him warm. He wiggled his toes and tried to keep track of time.  
Gaby would check out that villa. His communicator was in his jacket, so if she tried to check in – and he really hoped she would do that soon and not be so mad and wait for hours more -, then he would not be able to answer, Gaby thus realizing that something was wrong. And then … Then she would come for him, rescue him. His mind was blank on how his partner would achieve that. Would she suspect Kommissar Schmidt? She could use the communicator to locate him, there had been an update a few months ago, but she would only be able to get a rough estimate of his location and since they were underground it would probably not work at all.  
And really, Napoleon thought, Gaby should focus on Hannelore. He did not want to think about the third option, knowing that if he did, he would start to panic. So, he counted the water drops, slowly getting into a state of meditation. 

He had lost track of time when the door was opened again, the light spilling into the room making him squint.  
“Taking a nap?” the Kommissar laughed at him. There was another man with him, tall, bulky, with cold eyes, carrying a brown leather bag. “It's good you try and not waste energy. Helmut, was denkst du?” he turned to his companion.  
“Der sieht mir so aus, als ob er große Reden schwingt, aber nicht viel dahinter ist. Sollte kein Problem sein.”  
“Gut, dann leg mal los.”  
Helmut opened his bag, while the Kommissar adjusted the table so the surface was tilted. Then, Helmut stood in front of him, slowly pulling out instruments. He held them up for Napoleon to see and then put them away again.  
“Dear Helmut is showing you what's to come, so you can think about it,” the Kommissar said. “Personally, I really like this one,” he pointed at the scissors Helmut was holding up. “They are really sharp, can cut anything.”  
Napoleon swallowed hard, trying to get back into his meditative state, but the stale smell of cigarettes coming off the Kommissar and the clinking of the torture instruments made it impossible.  
Finally, Helmut seemed to be done. “Now,” the Kommissar patted his shoulder. “We will leave you a bit more, and then have a party.”

It was dark again, Napoleon grateful for the quiet. It was shame he did not carry any cyanide … No, he could not think that way. He could not give up … otherwise Gaby would surely kill him. He chuckled and had to make a conscious effort to calm down again. 

“Napoleon,” there was a familiar voice whispering right next to his ear. Somehow he had fallen asleep and now slowly blinked his eyes open. Gaby smiled at him and then started to carefully cut through the rope. “What I don't understand,” she continued, “is why they always make this more complicated than it has to be. Making you wait and stew … Honestly, it's like they actually want you to escape. I would get to work right away. And then put a bullet through your head.”  
“You'd be a scary villain,” Napoleon mumbled, carefully moving his limbs.  
“Scary and effective,” Gaby pulled away the rest of the rope and took his arm, helping him off the table. “Can you stand?”  
“Yeah. I'm okay,” he stretched his arms. The next moment Gaby was hugging him, shaking. He stroked over her back. “It's okay,” he repeated. “You've saved me. Let's get out of here.”  
He glanced into the corner. The red light of the camera was switched off. Gaby definitely was effective. She handed him a gun and then they went out into the corridor, slowly making their way down. “Where exactly are we?” Napoleon whispered.  
“You'll see,” Gaby seemed to have composed herself, face stoic in the dark.  
“There were three guys ambushing me in the flat, then Kommissar Schmidt,” something dark was appearing on Gaby's face, “and Helmut who was to be my new best friend. So there are at least five people around.”  
“I met two on my way in,” they approached a corner, getting quiet, but the hall was still empty. “But they won't trouble anyone in the near future.”  
“Did you find Hannelore?” Napoleon asked.  
“No. The villa was deserted. Who knows, maybe she has a hideout. Or she is in this as well.”  
“I don't think so. The Kommissar called her a traitor,” the next corridor was lined with doors. “Do you think we should have a look around? Maybe we'll find something of value. This is a lair of THRUSH after all.”  
Gaby gave him a sharp look and then nodded. “In that case we really should, as much as I want to get out of here,” she pointed at the next door. “Let's start there?”  
Napoleon had opened it in a moment with some wire Gaby gave him. It was a broom closet, the next room containing a small kitchen, but then they got lucky. A table with monitors and computers, a big file cabinet at the wall.  
“Alright, we can't take everything … you try the computer, I look through the cabinet,” Gaby handed him a disk from her bag.  
They got to work quickly, listening for steps outside, but it seemed their luck continued. Solo luck, Illya had called it, and Napoleon swallowed around the lump in his throat. He inserted the disk and let the program run. It was a genius little thing that would automatically comb through the hard drive, copying any data without leaving a trace.  
A few minutes later they were done. Gaby had made pictures on a small camera concealed in her lipstick of everything that seemed relevant and Napoleon handed her back the disk.

They approached a winded staircase. “That's not how I got in,” Napoleon whispered while they made their way up. Gaby smirked.  
“You'll like it, Cowboy,” she opened the next door, peering through it. “Seems we are clear. Their security really is a joke,” a man was lying on the other side, sleeping peacefully and they tiptoed around him. The room was big and round and Napoleon could look through the metal staircase all the way up.  
“Is this the water tower?”  
“You paid attention,” they climbed the first set of stairs, another man sleeping at the top of them. “The new sleeping darts really are effective,” Gaby commented and then they stepped out into the fresh night air, Napoleon taking a deep breath. 

“How did you find me?” Napoleon asked as they were walking towards their hotel. It was still dark, but the birds were already awake and singing.  
“I have a sixth sense,” Gaby said and Napoleon rolled his eyes.  
“We were underground, so it should not have worked with the communicator,” he said.  
“It did not. But I have a tracker on you,” Gaby said all too casually.  
“They took my shoes,” Napoleon pointed out, surprisingly not feeling offended at all. “They would have found a tracker.”  
“It's not in your shoe. I sewed it into the hem of your jacket.”  
Napoleon chuckled. “Of course you did.”  
“It was Illya's idea, you know. I just executed it. And I am very happy I did.”  
“Well, now that I know of it you have to find something else. And Cheryl will have to give me a check for a new jacket, they took mine.”  
“Poor you,” Gaby smirked.  
“Yeah, they also took my shoes. And my cigarettes were in my pocket.”  
Gaby was quiet.  
“I do not think I will buy new ones.”  
At that she took his arm. 

Ten minutes later they were at their hotel, the night porter not even batting his eyes at the sight of Gaby in all black and Napoleon without shoes. He waited while Gaby opened their door, already thinking of everything they needed to do next, trying to stifle a yawn.  
“Someone broke in,” Gaby whispered, pointing down at the beige carpet. A hair was curled on it. Napoleon got out his gun and quietly they slipped through the door.  
The living room was deserted and dark, the doors to the bedrooms and the bathroom closed, no light coming from the cracks. Everything was otherwise in order. “Maybe it was just the cleaning service?” Napoleon whispered.  
“In the middle of the night?” Napoleon could practically hear Gaby's eye roll.  
“Fine. You take the left, I take the right,” Napoleon pointed at the bedrooms and they crept closer, opening the doors simultaneously.  
“Oh, du bist es. Gott sei Dank!” there was a sudden voice and Napoleon whirled around, to the sight of Gaby being hugged by a familiar figure. He switched on the light.  
“Ich hatte solche Angst … ihr arbeitet also zusammen?” Hannelore let go of Gaby, looking at Napoleon.  
“Yes, we do. How did you find us?”  
“It was not that hard,” Hannelore shrugged. “You said you can get me out. Can you still?”  
“Of course.”  
“I will tell you all I know about my husband and his organization.”  
“We appreciate it. Please, sit down, Napoleon will make us some drinks.”  
Napoleon nodded and first went to the entrance, locking the door. Then, he made drinks and brought them to the couch, where the two women were talking quickly in German.  
Napoleon sat down opposite them, sinking into the pillows. He tried to follow the conversation while he sipped on his drink, but found his mind drifting. His muscles were sore, the skin where he had been bound chafed. At least he slowly felt warm again. Maybe he should get a hot shower …  
“Napoleon,” Gaby said.  
“Yes?”  
“Did you hear what I said?”  
“No, sorry.”  
She sighed. “Can you please call Waverly and update him? And we also need a contact in the German police, someone that can be trusted so we can bust THRUSH and Kommissar Schmidt.”  
Napoleon nodded. It seemed his shower had to wait.  


Three hours later they were back on the square in front of the water tower. Kommissar Schmidt was just walked past them in handcuffs, glaring at Napoleon. Other policemen carried computers and boxes with files, while gaping civilians were standing behind the cordon.  
Napoleon leaned against a lamppost, not sure how long his legs would still support him.  
“I think we are set,” Gaby came towards him, looking him over critically. “I got us some officers as well which will guard our door. We can't take any risks with Hannelore.”  
Napoleon just nodded.  
“Let's get you back to the hotel. You look like you need a shower and a bed.”  
“Yes ma'am” Napoleon followed her to a police car without any protest.

Gaby actually tucked him into bed, bending down to kiss his forehead. “Sleep well, Cowboy,” she said softly.  
“You still mad?” he mumbled back, his eyes already falling shut.  
“Yeah. But we will get past this.”  
He smiled and then drifted off to sleep, Gaby quietly leaving the room.

He woke up in the evening, finding Gaby and Hannelore having dinner.  
“I got everything done, we are leaving in the morning,” Gaby smiled at him and Napoleon felt his tension ease while he sat down. Back to New York. Back home.  
They had dinner and then a few drinks in celebration, but did not get drunk since they would have to leave quite early to get to Frankfurt airport. Still, Napoleon's head was pleasantly buzzing. Gaby and Hannelore sat close, talking intently and he was happy to just sit there and watch them.  
Then, Hannelore got up, stretching. “I am very tired, I will go to bed,” she gave Napoleon a half smile.  
“Yes,” Gaby got up as well, “that's a good idea. Listen, Napoleon … Hannelore still does not feel very safe, so I will take a bedroom with her and you sleep in the other.”  
“Oh,” Napoleon wanted to protest, but then shrugged. “Sure.”

It was strange to go to bed alone, even though he understood the necessity. Hannelore was their priority, after all. He fell asleep quickly thanks to the alcohol, hugging a pillow tight. 

The next morning he was up before dawn, Gaby already in the living room, packing quietly.  
“Hannelore is still asleep,” she whispered and then went to pour him a coffee. Napoleon smiled at her gratefully and took a sip, sitting down on the couch.  
“Strange to sleep without you,” he said after a moment.  
Gaby looked up from her suitcase. “I am still mad at you.”  
“Yes, we established that. But we did our job and got not only the Kommissar, but a whole THRUSH branch.”  
“You could have died,” Gaby crossed her arms.  
“You are being overprotective. It's not fair to criticize me for just that when you are doing the same.”  
“So what, we just stop caring for each other? Stop saving each other?” her voice was wavering.  
Napoleon put his cup aside and got up to take her in his arms. He stroked over her head, again and again. “Just the opposite, chop shop girl. Just the opposite.”

“I could have taken the couch,” Napoleon said casually while they were waiting for their flight to be announced and Hannelore had gone to the toilet.  
“What?” Gaby asked.  
“I could have taken the couch, that would have left a bedroom for you, and one for her. I am not stupid, you know, even if I may have been a bit slow last night.”  
Gaby just shrugged. “Usually you get the girl, so it's only fair I did for a change.”  
“Is this a thing now?”  
“Nah. She has family on the West Coast that she wants to join.”  
“I see. So, will you ask out Luise on a date?” Napoleon asked.  
Gaby actually blushed.  
“Ha, I knew it,” Napoleon grinned, basking in his new found power.  
“Fine,” she sighed. “But only if you ask out Cheryl.”  
“It's a deal.”

They had to pay an extra charge for their luggage, Gaby having bought too much Nivea creme and chocolate, but the rest of their flight went smoothly and they used the time to interview Hannelore and write down all she could remember.  
Back in New York they went straight to Del Floria's, handing in the disk and camera to the computer department and writing their report. The next few days went by in a frenzy, the disk and pictures containing information that told them a lot about THRUSH. It seemed their hunch had been right, the organization appearing to have a global structure, with its own headquarters, labs and factories. They even got the names of a few highly ranking THRUSH operatives from Hannelore, which led to arrests in several countries. The only letdown was that Hannelore's husband had disappeared.  
Neither Gaby nor Napoleon made good on their deal. Napoleon still went home with her in the evenings and she still was crying from time to time. He had thought about going to Waverly and requesting a transfer, but he could not bring himself to actually do it. It probably would do them both good, but he did not want to abandon Gaby who clearly needed him. And if he was honest with himself, he was too selfish to do the logical thing.  
It seemed Germany had been a fresh breath of air, but now back in New York Illya's absence was weighing on them both again. And even though their lives and work went on, they both did not seem to be ready to do the same.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wasserturm" - water (reservoir) tower
> 
> "Rheinstübchen" - name of the club they go to
> 
> “Fräulein Teller, schön, ihre Bekanntschaft zu machen. Sie kommen aus Ostberlin?” - "Miss Teller, how nice to meet you. You are from East Berlin?"  
> “Ursprünglich,” Gaby shook his hand [...]. - "Originally," Gaby shook his hand [...].  
> “New York muss wunderbar sein. Ich werde nächstes Jahr für meinen Sommerurlaub hinfliegen. Vielleicht können Sie mir ja ein paar Tipps geben, wenn dieser Fall abgeschlossen ist?” - "New York must be wonderful. I will go there next year for my summer holiday. Maybe you can give me a few tips when the case is finished?"  
> “Gerne. Aber erst mal sollten wir uns darauf konzentrieren.” - "Gladly. But first we should concentrate on the case."  
> “Absolut. Wie gesagt, der Klub ist umstellt. Ich habe mit ihrem Kollegen ein Zeichen ausgemacht, falls es Ärger geben sollte und wir haben auch Polizisten in Zivil bereitstehen, die sich unter die Leute mischen werden.” - "Absolutely. Like I said, the club is secured. Your colleague and I arranged a signal, in case there is trouble and we have undercover agents, who will mingle in the club."  
> “Dann sollte alles abgedeckt sein. Wir erwarten eigentlich nicht, dass es Probleme geben wird.” - "Then we should be covered. We don't really expect any trouble."  
> “Na, man kann nie vorsichtig genug sein.” - "Well, you can never be cautious enough."  
> “Ich denke nicht,” he said [...]. “Wir sehen uns später,” Napoleon continued. “Danke für das Treffen.” - "I don't think so," he said. "We will see you later," Napoleon continued. "Thank you for the meeting."  
> “Natürlich. Ich wünsche Ihnen Hals- und Beinbruch." - "Of course. Break a leg."
> 
> “Sie reden miteinander und frischen ihr Make-up auf,” the woman told him. “Sieht nicht so aus, als ob ihre Kollegin in Gefahr wäre.” - "They are talking and freshening up their make-up," the woman told him. "It does not look like your colleague is in trouble."  
> “Danke,” Napoleon said. - "Thank you," Napoleon said.
> 
> "Scheiße. What the fuck are you doing?" - "Shit. ..."  
> “Danke, Herr Kommissar,” Gaby shook his hand …. - “Thank you, officer,” Gaby shook his hand ...
> 
> “Kein Mucks,” a rough voice whispered. - "Don't make a sound," ... 
> 
> "Helmut, was denkst du?” he turned to his companion. - "Helmut, what do you think?" ...  
> “Der sieht mir so aus, als ob er große Reden schwingt, aber nicht viel dahinter ist. Sollte kein Problem sein.” - "He looks like he is all bark and no bite. Should be no problem."  
> “Gut, dann leg mal los.” - "Good, then you can start."
> 
> “Oh, du bist es. Gott sei Dank!” there was a sudden voice ... -"Oh, it's you. Thank God!"  
> “Ich hatte solche Angst … ihr arbeitet also zusammen?” - "I was so afraid ... you are working together?"
> 
> And if you are wondering ... this is the song about marble breaking: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_74YzFnQbzg - suffer with me!


	3. New York

“Napoleon,” Gaby looked up from the book she was reading and he was instantly alert. “I want you to leave.” It was a few weeks after their Mannheim mission, their work had finally calmed down a bit and the city was already decorated for Christmas.  
“What?” he said after a moment, not because he did not understand her, he just could not imagine why she would say that to him.  
“I need some time for myself. And so do you, to be quite frank.”  
“I'm fine,” he sat up even straighter. “Really, I don't mind.”  
“But I do. Go. Home. Napoleon,” she shot him a look and he swallowed hard, slowly getting up. He took his time getting to the door, putting on his jacket, in case she would change her mind.  
“You can call me if you need to,” Gaby stood suddenly behind him, one hand gently against his back.  
“I … you call me, please,” he turned around, trying to sound reassuring. She reached past him and opened the door, so he could do nothing else than take her cue.

He had not really been home since it happened, only coming by to pick up some clothes and have a coffee before work. It was weird to suddenly be in this space again that should feel safe and familiar, but now was only empty. He cleaned out the fridge first, taking care of the accumulated coffee cups next. When he was not sure what else to do, he changed his sheets. And then … a whole weekend lay ahead of him, a whole weekend alone, without anything to do, anyone to see … Except maybe Gaby would call, would want his company again. He settled down on his couch, the stack of newspapers from the last two weeks at his side and slowly started to make his way through it, keeping the telephone in sight.

He lasted three hours. Then, he got up and was on his way to Gaby's flat before he could stop and think about it.  
She opened the door, her hair in a towel, thick, white cream on her face. “What are you doing here?”  
“I …,” he held up his hands, not sure what to say. “I don't know, I couldn't … ”  
"Fine," she stepped aside and he went into the living room. “Let me get this off first,” she said and pointed to the kitchen. “Make yourself a drink. We need to talk.”  
Napoleon swallowed hard, but followed her order. Armed with a gin and tonic he settled down on the couch.  
“Right,” Gaby came in five minutes later, hair still wet, but her face shining and clear of cream. She stood in front of him, crossing her arms. “You do realize that we cannot spend every waking minute together.”  
“Yes, but ...”  
She held up her hand. “So when I asked you to leave, it was a serious request.”  
“You said I could call.”  
“But you did not call. You came around again.”  
“I'm sorry, I just …,” Napoleon put the drink on the table, fearful of spilling something. “I wanted to make sure you are okay.”  
“I am okay. And I do not think you wanted to check on me. This is not about me.”  
“But … of course it is. You are my partner. You are still crying for him.”  
“And you are not.”  
“What?”  
“Napoleon, it's time that you deal with your own grief. You have been very sweet and kind, taking care of me. I appreciate it more than I can say. But you need to take care of yourself.”  
“I'm fine.”  
Gaby scoffed and then sat down at his side. “You lost your lover,” she said quietly. “How can you be fine?”  
“Excuse me?” Napoleon turned towards her, not quite sure he had heard correctly.  
“Oh please, let's just stop tiptoeing around it. I know you two were an item and I do not mind. I was happy for you. So please, just go and deal with your pain.”  
“We were not …,” he could not even bring himself to say it. “You and Illya, you were … I would never have gotten between you ...”  
“Are you seriously telling me …?” Gaby stared at him. “Alright, I need a moment.”  
Napoleon took a big slug of his drink. “Why did you think …?” he asked eventually.  
“The way you looked at each other?” Gaby said. “And you would constantly touch each other. And Illya sometimes would say things that made me believe …”  
“Oh,” Napoleon stared at his now empty glass.  
“Illya and I did not work out. Surely you must have noticed that.”  
“I … found it rude to pay too much attention,” Napoleon shrugged, trying to align his memories to this newly discovered reality.  
Gaby snorted again. “In any case, for the last half year or so before he … died, I noticed this shift between you. Are you seriously telling me there was nothing between you?”  
“I'm not …,” Napoleon stopped himself before he could finish that sentence. It would be hypocritical, especially saying it to Gaby.  
“Yeah Cowboy, you are. You like to project this socially acceptable image of yourself, but I have seen you looking. And not just at Illya.”  
“I need another drink,” he got up before Gaby could respond. He took his time in the kitchen, waiting until his hands were still again.  
“So did you? Love him?” Gaby said when he came back, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had just managed to get back his countenance.  
He sat down slowly, taking his time to drink up the glass. He could not lie to Gaby. She was everything he had left, the only person who was fully on his side, whom he trusted with every fiber of his being.  
“Yes,” he had to drag that simple word to the surface, from its hiding place deep within his self. It felt so strange to say it and he suddenly realized that now there was no turning back. With this word he had acknowledged what he never even allowed himself to think.  
Gaby took his hand and then pulled him into a hug. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, big sobs shaking his body.  
“I've … I've wasted so much time,” he hiccuped, trying desperately to get the words out. “And now he's dead and I can never tell him how much ...”  
Gaby stroked over his hair. For so many weeks he had been there for her, had carried her pain and helped her cope and now she gracefully took on that role for him. 

When Monday came around, Napoleon felt … not exactly better, but at least able to face the outside world again. He did not want to go back to Doctor Troi, but Gaby practically dragged him to the psychiatrist's office. After a few appointments, Napoleon had to grudgingly admit that it helped. 

Then, just a week to Christmas, Gaby came into his office with a big grin. “You gotta make good on our deal.”  
“What deal?” Napoleon looked up from his report.  
“I asked out Luise. We are going to the cinema tonight.”  
“Oh. What are you seeing?”  
“The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. It's gonna be fun to point out all the inaccuracies.”  
“Well, I hope you have a nice time.”  
“And?”  
“And what?”  
“And, when will you ask out Cheryl? I would be willing to let you ask out Mark if you would rather.”  
“I think I stick with her,” Napoleon mumbled. Maybe he knew two things, the second thing being that Gaby always got what she wanted.

Cheryl was lovely. The whole evening was lovely. The food, the restaurant he had picked, her dress, her laughter, the conversation. He was sure that if he suggested it, she would come home with him. Instead, he drove her to her own place, kissed her cheek and went back to his car when he was sure that she had made it safely inside.

It was the 24th of December. Napoleon had just heated up mulled wine and brought the cups into his living room. Gaby was curled up on the couch, watching 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'. He put the cups down and lowered himself into his armchair, getting back to his copy of 'War and Peace'. It was peaceful, all that was missing to complete the picture was snow.  
“I really hope you didn't get me a present,” Gaby was smiling when the cartoon came to an end and she had switched off the commercials. “Because I did not get you one, and it would be weird.”  
“Promise. Cross my heart …,” he tapped against his chest. “I may have gotten Waverly something, but ...”  
“Oh you didn't!” she laughed and reached for her mug, enjoying the drink. “As long as you got something for Luise ...”  
“Of course I have. I would not dare to show up at her party without a present.”  
“She wanted me to ask you if you are bringing someone,” Gaby said casually.  
“The answer is still no,” Napoleon sighed. “And I would not know whom to ask.”  
“I'm disappointed it did not work out with Cheryl. She could have gotten us better equipment, more funds, first class plane seats ...”  
“Of course I should have put my personal happiness behind your materialistic wishes,” Napoleon quipped back. “But honestly, I am fine like this. I can't really remember a time when I wasn't dating someone and this is very nice for a change.”  
“As long as you eventually move on and not get stuck in your grief.”  
“I will. But it only has been two months, I think I can give myself some more time.”  
Gaby was about to reply when the doorbell rang. They exchanged a glance and then Napoleon got up, straightening his knitted blazer.

He opened the door and then immediately closed it again. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to make sense of what he had just seen …  
“Who is it?” Gaby had followed him, but he couldn't answer. “Napoleon, are you okay? You are white as a sheet.” She opened the dresser beside them, getting out a gun Napoleon kept there.  
“You don't need …,” Napoleon shook his head.  
“You sure?” Gaby left the gun where it was and then slipped past him to open the door. Now she was stunned to silence, her astonished expression nearly comical.  
“You … fucking …,” the next moment she had thrown her arms around Illya, hugging him tight and he raised her into the air with a big grin.  
“Chop shop girl! You are here as well!” he sat her down and she took his hand.  
Napoleon turned around, going back into the living room. He did not know how to react, what to say, how to feel. Gaby and Illya followed him slowly.  
“Cowboy …,” Illya said, suddenly standing close and Napoleon took a step back. There was a flicker of hurt in Illya's eyes and Napoleon was glad for it.  
“So, you did not die,” he said because it seemed the easiest thing to say.  
“Apparently not,” Illya replied. They were staring at each other and Napoleon felt the urge to say something else, to say everything, when Gaby interrupted them. She had sat down again, emptied her wine in one big gulp and now pointed at Illya.  
“Tell us then.”  
Illya went to sit in Napoleon's chair, so he opted to stand, looking at the back of Illya's head.  
“It was Waverly's plan,” Illya started.  
Gaby raised an eyebrow. “I did not ask for excuses. Right now I want the facts, afterwards you can apologize.”  
Illya sighed, but then started again. “There was a criminal I met when I was still a KGB agent. I managed to spoil his business twice, but he also escaped me. In early October I first got word that he had been spotted in New York, so I went to Waverly. I had always thought that he was part of a bigger network and I hoped that I now had a chance to get to him. Then, two weeks later, there was an attempt on my life ...”  
“What?” Napoleon said and Illya turned around to look at him.  
“Obviously they were not successful.”  
“Obviously …,” Napoleon echoed. “Wait, was that when you were in that car accident and we had to pick you up from the hospital?”  
Illya nodded and Napoleon could see that Gaby had a hard time containing her anger. Illya seemed to be oblivious of her state and talked on.  
“Waverly and I got together after that and thought up a plan. We knew he wanted to get revenge on me and we wanted to not only bring him in, but also expose whomever he was working for. So, after some preparation and planning, I went to Europe and led him on a chase. In Milan he finally caught up with me, just as planned.”  
“You should have told us. You should have trusted us!” Gaby said, her voice sharp. Illya turned back to her.  
“I know, but it needed to look real. Cowboy can't act.”  
“Oh, so now it's my fault,” Napoleon huffed.  
“If you want to blame someone, blame Waverly. He decided it would be safer to keep you out of it. And I agreed because you would have wanted to help and that is not a risk I am willing to take.”  
“We are partners,” Gaby nearly screamed. “We care about each other! You did not even give us a chance!”  
“It is done,” Illya got up and sat down beside her, catching her hands in his. He held them, meeting her gaze calmly. “It may not have been the best way to do this. And I am sorry that I put you through it.”  
“You bloody well should be.”  
“So why did you only come back now?” Napoleon asked.  
“Like I said, we wanted to not just get him. After Milan, believing me dead, he got more careless, just as we had predicted. And I was able to find ties to the organization he was working for.”  
“THRUSH?” Gaby asked and Illya nodded.  
“Still, it was not enough. I needed hard evidence and then ...”  
“Oh,” Napoleon interrupted, finally catching up. “And then we did.”  
“Without you I would not be back,” Illya said gently.  
“I don't get it,” Gaby said, pulling her hands free.  
“Hannelore,” Napoleon replied. “I suppose her husband is now in our custody.”  
“Indeed,” Illya said. “We were not sure if we could really trust her, so that was another reason why you had to believe I was dead. And then, when your mission was finished, he managed to slip away from me in Berlin, so it took me a bit longer to come back.”  
“Why did Waverly not tell us the truth after Mannheim? Surely at that point it did not matter anymore.”  
Illya sighed. “I wanted to tell you myself.”  
“How nice. And now you think all will be as it was,” Gaby said, crossing her arms.  
“I realize that I have upset you,” Illya said. “But like I said, I am sorry.”  
“I can't take this right now,” Gaby got up abruptly. “Sorry Napoleon, I think I won't sleep here. I need to go home and break something.”  
He got up as well and followed her into the hallway.  
“You can just throw him out. But,” Gaby turned around and stabbed a finger into his chest, “there are things you have to say to him.”  
“I don't think …,” Napoleon took a deep breath. “I will see you tomorrow?”  
“Yes. Of course,” she raised onto her toes and kissed his cheek. The next moment she was gone.

He slowly returned to the living room. Illya was standing at the window, but turned around when he came in.  
“So,” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly seeming very small.  
“So,” Napoleon echoed. Gaby was right, there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do, but his heart was beating so fast and he was so angry and nervous and tongue-tied himself.  
“Gaby and you …,” Illya started and then cleared his throat. “I mean, I did not expect ...”  
“Full sentences, Peril,” how easy it was to joke, even now. Illya looked at him sharply, blue eyes piercing.  
“I expected life to pause while I was gone. I should not have. Of course you continued. I am glad that Gaby and you found each other.”  
“That is certainly a full sentence. Several in fact,” Napoleon mumbled before he could stop himself. Illya seemed to fall into himself even more.  
“I should go,” he turned to leave.  
“No,” Napoleon took a quick step towards him, reaching out to touch his arm. He expected Illya to flinch, to run away, but he just turned back, his gaze open and vulnerable.  
“Per … Illya, Gaby and me, we are not together. Yes, we've got close, closer, after your … death,” he could feel the soft cotton of Illya's shirt under his fingertips and then closed his hand around Illya's wrist. “She is like a sister to me. I love her dearly, but the thing is … I always assumed that you two were together, but … apparently you were not, and I've … even before you went away, I felt … it just took me some time to realize …,” he had slowly come closer, until their noses were nearly touching. He leaned forward, closing the gap between them, lips brushing against lips. Illya was still for a moment and then he sighed and pulled Napoleon into his arms. 

Later that night they were cuddled up on the couch, Napoleon leaning against Illya's solid frame. Listening to his steady heartbeat, the skin under his fingers warm and soft, he felt safe and at home.  
“How long have you known?” he asked.  
Illya chuckled, and then kissed the side of his head. “A while. I just never got the impression that this is something you want. You always go on dates with women, you never showed interest in men. And even though we flirted ... it was easy to call it just bantering.”  
“Gaby says I like to project a socially acceptable version of myself. The truth is, I never cared, but society does, my family does. It was easier to ignore this part of myself.”  
“I am glad you are not anymore.”  
They were quiet again for a while, Napoleon turning the conversation in his head.  
“Today, you coming here … Did you mean to tell me?”  
“I … was not sure. I was not sure how you would react at all. I had a thousand scenarios in my head. But I knew that if I did not say something tonight, then at least tomorrow.”  
“What made you change your mind?”  
“Being away from you. I missed you. I missed Gaby as well, but I thought … what if something were to happen to you while I was gone, what if I messed this up by not acting sooner.”  
“Well, something nearly did happen …,” Napoleon closed his mouth. Maybe not the best moment to bring this up and yes, Illya sat up, turning Napoleon around so he could look at him.  
“What?” he said. “What did happen in Mannheim?”  
“Have you not read the mission report?” Illya shook his head and Napoleon hurried to rush the words out. ”We went in, got the mission done, got all that info on THRUSH, got out. No problems along the road whatsoever.” Judging by Illya's gaze he found it safer to make a mental note to let the mission report disappear and talk to Gaby. He did not care what she would ask for in exchange.  
“You talk bullshit,” Illya said.  
“I am alive. Not hurt. I am here, with you. Isn't that what counts? Besides, you are the one who pretended to be dead. I am really not the one who is to blame here, and ...”  
Illya shut him up with a kiss.

They ended up falling asleep on the couch, tangled up in each other. Napoleon woke with the first light and quietly got up to take a shower and change his clothes. Illya was still asleep when he was done, so he went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The familiar movements were soothing and if he closed his eyes he could still feel Illya's arms around himself. Illya, who liked him, maybe even … he caught himself before he could finish that thought, but then smiled. Suddenly there was a whole new world, so much to discover. Kissing Illya had been amazing, but he wanted more, wanted everything. And he was sure he would get it.  
He was still angry, he contemplated while flipping over a pancake. But then again, he understood why Illya had acted the way he did. He would have done the same, as well as Gaby. She would calm down soon enough and then they could be partners again.  
But first things first. Pancakes and coffee, and then he would prepare the food he would bring to Luise's party.  
“Pancakes?” Illya mumbled, having appeared in the kitchen door. His hair was a mess and Napoleon smiled at him brightly.  
“Yes. I do not have a present for you, so that is the least I could do.”  
“I have no present either,” Illya's face fell.  
Napoleon put the last pancake on the stack and switched off the oven. He went to stand in front of Illya, placing a hand against his cheek.  
“Illya,” he said, “you are present enough.”


End file.
